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M.A.(Azure) Versus Winston(Kamiroo Wolf)

Remember to vote fairly and feel free to give feedback on either piece! May the best man/plague win.

Spoiler for Prey: Winston(By Azure):

Show

To say that Winston didn’t know what he was doing out here was an understatement, to say the least. How he ended up on a beach was confusing enough in and of itself, but here he was on a deserted beach of all things, with a small cabin nearby and no signs of nearby society aside from a road that stretched on who knows how long.

Looking around at the white sands, he at least felt pretty cozy. The sun was setting before him into the water, so he was somewhere west. That was helpful at least. The scene was idyllic, beautiful in its simplicity. Maybe he needed a bit of a break. After all the things that had happened lately, he could honestly use a break. Leaving Sanctuary had weighed a bit heavier on his mind than he wanted to let on; fighting his former comrades, giving up on their ideals. He was still a kid, and yet the world seemed intent to give him as heavy a burden as it could muster.

He glanced at the sketchbook to his side. It seemed whatever brought him here wasn’t interested in leaving him powerless nor defenseless. Then again, without anybody around, what exactly was there to be worried about? Still, he felt safer having it around than being without. He thought back to his father, and to the things he’d told him, how he’d been helping him unlock more of his potential. “Dad… are you ok? I hope nothing happened when… whatever it was that happened brought me here.”

Flipping through the pages, he glances through some of the summons he has predrawn, ready to tear out at a moment’s notice. It definitely looked like his sketch book; he was pretty sure nobody else drew a bunch of stick figures with highly detailed weapons alongside fairly detailed human knights. Or maybe they did, and he just wanted to reassure himself this wasn’t some intricate trap. Whatever the case may have been, the hidden symbol that was his artist tag was in the corner of the front and back cover, so he was pretty damn sure this was definitely his.

Grabbing a pen from his pocket, he decides to draw Atkus on a page as well, just to reassure himself. One of his more powerful summons he had recently unlocked, Atkus was similar to his human knights, but more powerful in a subtle way. The warrior, able to wield a greatsword in but one hand and a tower shield in the other, had the peculiar ability to grow faster as he swung his sword about, slowly becoming a whirlwind of heavy strikes as he follows alternating patterns of attacks.

By the time he was done, the sun had set, and the beach became somewhat illuminated by the moon, the silvery light casting its glow upon the waves and giving the sand a keen luster. Deciding that staying outside for the night wasn’t his idea of a good time, Winston headed for the cabin. It was indoors, and if he was lucky, it’d have a bed to get some proper sleep on.

Heading up the fairly short staircase (could you call three stairs a staircase?), he opened the door without effort. Inside, there was a mini fridge, a single bed, a fireplace, a kitchenette (score), and a bookshelf with what look to be romance, mystery, and old monster novels. Checking that the fridge was indeed decently stocked, Winston decides to give this impromptu vacation a shot. Tearing out two pages, he summons two stick figures: one with a flaming sword, the other with an extra large sledgehammer. “Six points. Should be pretty good. You guys, guard outside, alright? I don’t know who sent me here, but I’d rather not have anybody try to do anything weird to me while I’m asleep, alright?” The two stick figures nod, before making their way out of the door. Winston lets out a breath of relief, and grabbing a microwave pot pie out of the mini fridge, goes to heat it up in the microwave.

~~~~~

The night dragged on a bit as Winston sat on the bed, looking through one of the books from the shelf. A monster book, it was titled ‘Night of the Living Flesh.’ It seemed to focus on a cliche group of curious (read: dumb) teenagers who find a mysterious hole in the ground from some alien ship crashing, and a strange creature made of flesh pops out and eats one. Cue them trying to save the day while telling nobody about the monster, leading to it secretly going around eating people and growing larger and more dangerous all the while…

He blinks. “What the…?” He felt some of his power returning. One of his summons had been eliminated. But how? It was definitely something to worry about. He closes the book and grabs his sketch book, heading to check outside the door. Not having windows was both a blessing and a weakness, really. You didn’t have to worry about anything breaking through it, but you could only look out the door.

As he glances out, he doesn’t notice much. Risking sticking his head a bit further out, he spots a flame in the distance; so it was number 2 that got eliminated. The direction it seemed to have patrolled in, judging by the footsteps on the beach, was towards a cave on the far end of the beach. Nothing was visible, but that gave Winston even more chills. There wasn’t much chance the stick went there and died falling on a rock. Now the question was if he should go to investigate, or if he should leave well enough alone. His mind wanders back to the book he was reading.

“Going to a mysterious cave on a mysterious beach in the middle of the night when I know that something just died in there? Yeah, that’s something I’m definitely not going to do. Mom didn’t raise no fool.” Tearing out a few more pages, he summons two basic sticks with swords, and a knight with a mace. “Ok. You two.” He points to the sticks. “Stick with Number One over there, and avoid that cave. Got it?”
They nod and head off.

“And you, Mr. Knight. Guard my door. No wandering off.” Winston cast another glance towards the cave, feeling less and less at ease. “Seriously. No wandering.”

The knight gives a nod, though he glances at the cave curiously. It seemed to want to ask him something, but held its tongue. Winston heads back in, sitting on the bed and leaning his back against the wall. He was definitely not feeling comfortable anymore. He needed to figure out where he was, and he needed to get home fast.

~~~~~

The day breaks slowly, and Winston jolts awake as the rays of sunlight hit him from the cracks in the wooden door. Stretching to waken himself, he rubs at his eyes, wiping away the dreams of fleshy monsters and sexy teenage girls saying “Jinkies!”

As he gets his head together, he comes to a strange realization. All his stick figures were gone. Grabbing his sketchbook, he rushes outside, looking around. There was no sign of anybody. The waves greet him silently. The sands look clear of struggles.

There was no sign of anybody. But he could clearly feel that his knight was still active; there was still a solid drain on his power, mentally calculated to four points. So where was he? Even if they were a bit more rebellious, they wouldn’t just outright ignore orders.

Something was going on. Something weird, something strange, something he didn’t like. And it was definitely in that cave. Taking a deep breath, he pulls out the page of Atkus, and throws it in the air where it disintegrates. Atkus spawns, slowly rising from the magic circle as though he were being brought to life from another world.

Standing tall and proud, the knight in shining armor with shinier shield and sword looks about, taking note of the surroundings. Winston walks in front of him. “Hey Atkus,” Winston greets him. He receives no reply, not that he expected one. Atkus was the strong silent type, with emphasis on the word strong. Solidly built, his armor was filled out with muscles that were reminiscent of a greek adonis, appearing more chiseled than being made of flesh. With stony eyes, he looks down to Winston, awaiting instruction. “Atkus, we’re going to go investigate that cave and see if we can’t figure out what’s going on here, and why I got dragged here.”

Atkus nods, and moving before Winston, begins to trek towards the cave. Winston follows close behind, notching pages to quickly be pulled out in the worst case scenario. Arriving at the mouth of the cave, Winston immediately notes that it seems strangely humid. It was partially in the water and sloped downwards, so it wasn’t exceptionally weird, but something about the humidity, the stickiness of it… it seemed off.

Atkus takes the lead, heading down slowly. Winston clicks his tongue, annoyed that he couldn’t summon a stick with some light attribute to make things easier to see. If he made it back, he would definitely need to talk to his father about unsummoning things. Whatever his knight was doing, it was wasting his power.
As they descend deeper and deeper, the wet sand and rocks and flowing seawater notably slowing their progress, Winston begins to note a smell in the air. It was diluted, so it didn’t get to him immediately, but he soon understands just what it is from his fights and his time in Sanctuary.

Blood. Lots and lots of blood. He hangs back a bit, letting Atkus take more of the lead. This wasn’t good. Something bad was clearly down there. Still, if he wanted to make sure he was safe while figuring things out, he needed to deal with it quickly, and Atkus was likely his strongest defensive summon, and once he got going, his strongest offensive one as well.

Eventually, the cave seemed to level out, and the smell of blood was thick and acrid now. Winston moves his shirt above his nose, holding back the need to gag.

A random flashlight was on the ground. Picking it up, Winston turns it on and waves it around. He immediately regrets it. All over the walls are human and animal entrails and viscera, blood coating everything. It was as if things were repeatedly smashed against the walls until they stuck, like some sort of sick children’s toy. As he continued to stare, he noticed that black stains were mixed in… he shaked the implications from his mind, silently apologizing to the stick figures.

But that didn’t explain what happened to the knight. Until he heard something clang against Atkus’ shield. He turned the flashlight, only to see his knight attempting to introduce Atkus to the business end of his mace. Atkus, unsure of what to do in facing his master’s fellow summon, simply defends himself with his shield. Winston tries to process what is happening, before trying to command him. “Stop! Don’t attack Atkus! What are you even doing?”

The knight seems to show some restraint, before launching back in its assault. It seemed like some stronger force was compelling it. Atkus, seeing that there was no helping it, brings his greatsword down on the knight’s helm, not splitting it, but certainly leaving a dent. The stunned knight backs off its attack, only to receive a slash across its neck, severing its head. It falls to the floor, rolling to a halt at Atkus’ feet while its body simply slumps forward. Winston is unable to hold it in anymore. He pukes.

Atkus kneels and rubs his back, keeping vigil to ensure nothing tries to attack from the shadows, but they appear to be alone now. Winston, once his stomach settles, stands on unsteady feet. “That… what was that? What happened to him?” He tries to make sense of things, but doesn’t. The corpse sits there, unmoving, and strangely… not bleeding, either. It wasn’t as if there was no blood at all, it but it was very little, all things considered. Winston doesn’t dwell on this. He just had to kill one of his summons. Maybe not by his own hand, but he was still responsible. Grabbing its mace, he checks to see how much it weighs him down. Satisfied it wasn’t too significant, he and Atkus begin making their way back up. As they reached the entrance, a strange, small figure looked down on them. It resembled a small girl, but because of the sunlight to its back, Winston couldn’t get a good look. The shape of the head seemed weird, however, as did its limbs… He backs away slowly.

“Hello?” he says slowly, trying to keep himself calm. “Who are you? Are you friendly?”

The person doesn’t speak. Taking this as a problem, Winston moves behind Atkus.

“Atkus, shield up and go and check them out. If they seem aggressive, take them down immediately. They’re probably the one that did something to my knight.” Atkus nods, and following orders, brings up his tower shield, slowly moving towards the being standing at the top of the cave. After a few steps, he collapses to his knees. Behind his helmet, he was just as confused as Winston was, the latter trying to figure out how he had lost his footing.

Quick as a whip, however, something lashes out from the small feminine form, impaling itself in the small slits of Atkus’ helmet. The paragon twitches a bit, before falling forward, still and lifeless. The tail slowly slithers back to the creature, which widens its stance slightly, raising up its two… four arms up in what appeared to be an act of intimidation. Winston panicked, then remembered, he had plenty of sticks predrawn. All he needed was a distraction to get out.

Preparing to rip out pages, he feels his arm go numb. Looking down, he notices a trail of spiders on him; when did they get there? Where had they come from? His sketchbook fell to the water and sand, and he looked towards the creature which was slowly descending towards him. Mace still in his other hand, he lifts it slowly behind his back, hoping he can at least get one shot in. It wasn’t going to end like this. As soon as the creature closed in, he swung with all he had.

It caught the weapon easily with two of its arms. Without hope, Winston throws a kick, only to be pushed backwards, his head hitting a rock hard. As he began to unceremoniously black out, he watched the creature appear to carve out some of its flesh, and slowly draw closer and closer still.

In his mind, all he could think of was the flesh monster from the book. Constantly feeding on others, constantly expanding, all because of curiosity…

~~~~~

In a lab some distance away, two RHG officials stare at their screen. “It seems that containment is working for now,” one says. “We’ve managed to isolate the creature to the beach, and giving it prey to deal with seems to keep it pacified enough that it isn’t trying to move elsewhere yet. It seems like it likes keeping its ‘nest’ in a fairly safe spot.”

“True,” the scientist’s partner agrees. “But I worry about sending dangerous gladiators to it. While it would be great if they could kill it, what if it manages to find a way back to major civilization during one of the drops? We already lost a few employees to it, and its mind control powers seem rather troublesome.”

“You worry too much. It’s like an animal. As long as you feed it, it’ll remain docile. Besides, even if Winston somehow manages to survive, do you think he’ll be unharmed? He won’t be able to connect this to the RHG Organization, much less the containment branch, and our location is highly classified even within the organization. Using him kills two birds with one stone.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m just worried that underestimating this thing could result in a disaster.”

“Just file a report if you’re so worried. I’m going on break soon.”

Unnoticed by the two, Winston emerges from the cave, as if in a stupor. Ripping out a drawing, he soon takes off with a stick figure on a rocket board, heading out to sea towards the nearest land...

Spoiler for Return to Normalcy(By Kamiroo):

Show

Furious, the dark orange glow of the late evening hangs in the sky through sheer force of will. The raging sun claws and tears against the pull of time as a rich darkness wrestles its way to prominence. The timid stars, paled by an unwillingness to suffer the brunt of the celestial king's rebelling wrath, peek out to gaze upon the daylight's surrender in clusters of faint luminescence. The frail beauty of the night's lights glimmer in the courtship of a calm, collected moon, the sun thrashing in its shallow grave just beyond the horizon.

On the surface of the Earth, now swept beneath a blanket of peaceful shade, an unfinished skyscraper gleams with an activity absolutely parallel to the dusk, the men, women, and children within celebrating reunion unforeseen by many- the heavens themselves awed and enticed when presented the festivity.

"Every day, we encounter legends and myths others only hear about in whispers! Every day, we take these legends under our wing, and every day we transform myths into facts solid enough to withstand and repel the many evils of society that back themselves solely on principles detrimental to this world's progression! Today, I am honored to raise a glass to welcome back one such legend who, in his own absence, has become quite the myth among our ranks- serving as a paragon toward which many of our youngest operatives aspire! Ladies, gentlemen, brothers and sisters, allow me to reintroduce to you one of Pax Gaia's founding and most influential leaders: Harlow Kitt!" Waves of heavy applause and roaring cheers rock the unfinished building. Esteemed guests, active operatives, and even rowdy children alike provide a standing ovation as a withered and gaunt man of dark skin and pitch black, poorly-braided hair is escorted to the stage by a man similar in face and lankiness, if nothing else.

Once at the podium, Harlow Kitt initiates a speech he had prepared long before the night had come with the zealous passion, his attendant stepping off the stage and into the festivities amidst the mesmerized masses. The returning legend, with an expansive vocabulary and explosive use of diction, recounts, reassures, and reviews Pax Gaia's goals, ambitions, and leadership. Many of the seasoned adults stand and gaze upon the speaker in all of his nostalgic, seemingly endless wisdom, whilst many of the younger and more starstruck operatives attempt to absorb his radiating experience. The guests of the event chatter amongst themselves as children of varying ages scurry across the concrete and steel floor, only for the majority of them to be yanked up and given a stern talking to by adults the attendant can only assume to be their parents.

"I have to admit, Winston, you're father's much better at this than expected." A familiar voice addresses the attendant amidst the buzz of a hundred or so others, feminine and reinforced with a resilience to match that of diamonds. Unable to judge the distance but recognize the caller in an instant, Winston's turns into the frigid presence of Bridget Greene. The current face of Pax Gaia and only other remaining ally following his fallout with Sanctuary, the crystalline gaze of the ballroom's jewel pierces his soul from quite a distance. Incapable of weathering the blazing blue stare of the vigilante, Winston evades any possibility of eye contact as he weaves and navigates a miniature gathering of Harlow's fan base, finally happening upon the seated Bridget with a friendly hug and thanks for all her help.

"Well, I wouldn't be too surprised; he did have fifteen-something years to practice his comeback." Winston comments, a slight jadedness to his tone by the time his focus falls on the young woman clad in her standard uniform, the leather straps holstering her stringless bow and defending her vitals whilst the tight clothing beneath guards what remains. The summoner, suddenly more determined to maintain eye contact above all else, leans against an unoccupied table whose occupants fly to secure a chance to ask the founding father their questions. Opposite to a seated Bridget, Winston questions the young woman's choice of attire, who then returns the question with a pitying glance at the tuxedo clinging to the conjurer's skin. Folding one leg over the other and flaunting comfortability with a smirk, the huntress can only snicker as Winston jokingly attempts to do the same to no avail.

"Long story short: Assignments aren't common here, but I've got a team of eggheads to escort out to a couple of 'crime scenes' in a bit, despite my defiance at the time of delegation. It's a shame too, I was really looking forward to picking your old man's brain a bit."

"Well, with all the operatives y'all have, they should've had, y'know, someone else they could send?"

"Nobody they, and I quote my superior, 'trusted more to handle this dire situation'." Forming an air quotation with a single hand while the other rests on her lap, Bridget rolls her eyes briefly, the staggering amount of disbelief in her expression enough to force a chuckle from the summoner.

"You think they might want you gone for the night?" Winston, though genuinely curious as to why Pax might want to get rid of Bridget for their current France's reunion, allows his mind to wander and considers the idea of getting back into the heart of the city- if for nothing else than a bit of relative peace and quiet away from his father's followers.

"Hmph. You said it, not me, I get to keep my job." The knight jokes, twisting slightly to retrieve her glass of champagne.

"Yeah, lucky you... lucky you. Tell you what?" Winston temporarily folds his arms and rolls his padded shoulders in discomfort, the table he is up against moving against his weight slightly as he pushes off of the garnished, glass furniture to stand up.

"Pitch." Bridget sips her glass and places it down gently before interlocking her fingers and placing her conjoined hands over her folded knees.

"I'll make you a deal: you let me take that mission for you so I can check how things are in the city and, in turn, you take over protecting-slash-assisting my dad for the party?" The two of them lock eyes for brief moment, Bridget ultimately shrugging and unfolding her legs to rise from her seat with a slightly audible exhalation.

"You finally find your father after 'x' amount of years and your looking to pass him off at the first party? Gotta admit I'm curious as to why."

"Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against him. I'm just really not trying to being introduced as the guest of honor's son and potential Pax recruit a hundred times in one night."

"Ah, so the swarm tactician isn't good with crowds. Good to know." Despite standing absolutely upright, the vigilante remains looking up the artist with a smile and a raised brow, finally offering a sincere 'thank you' before pulling a smartphone from a pouch at the back of her pocket.

------------------------------------------

Leaving the discount tuxedo and dress shirt in the dirt, Winston dawns a simplistic wifebeater tank-top alongside his dress pants and shoes, climbing into the unmarked van and taking a seat drilled to the floor of the car. Alongside him, various scientists hiding behind hazmat suits pile in, the leading egghead with a slight coloration difference in his suit.

"Are you absolutely sure you'd prefer not to wear a hazmat suit? The integrity of the air in the environment we're entering may not be the stable." One of Pax Gaia's hired medical experts, Doctor Russ Fitzgerald raises his hands as though to make sure of Winston's decision, all five digits on his fingers spread out, pointed toward the escort in question.

"Unless you've got something that doesn't require me putting on bulky gloves, I'll have to pass on the suit-" Interrupted by the initiative roar of the van's engine, the summoner leans against the wall inside the vehicle's interior as Russ, seated opposite to him, carefully explains all of the potential risks the bodyguard is exposing himself to.

"-But just what exactly is it that we're looking at here, Dr. Fitzgerald? I was told we were investigating crime scenes of sorts." Cutting the scientist off, Winston tugs on the collar of his undershirt and lowers his shoulder to loosen and retrieve his backpack, pulling back the zipper hiding the container's contents prior to lifting out a thick notebook comprised of cardstock.

"Not trying to intimidate you, but whoever told you that would have surely died on this mission. What we're investigating and tampering with is something far more complicated: evidence suggesting the presence of a sentient plague within the city."

Another scientist, whose floaty and high-pitched voice breaks through the hefty orange suit, cuts in from a seat across from and farthest to the right of Winston. With each bump the van endures, this scientist tightens their grip on the exit at the back of the car, the constant shaking and rattling from within the suit unclear as to whether or not fear or motion is to blame.

Calling on what remains from his biology teachings, Winston proceeds to leave a mental note voiding the viability of his knights, assuming his stick figures would be more resistant to disease as he begins to prematurely scribble the symbols and markings necessary for such characters.

"See, now, when you say 'sentient plague', are we talking about a mere virus or something more movie based?" The other scientists awkwardly shift in their seats at the creator's question, the other four researchers seated around Russ and Winston alike leaving their superior to answer as they sheepishly avoid already impossible eye contact.

"The truth of the matter is that we don't know what we're dealing with."

"Then how do you know it's a threat?"

"There's a specific hysteria floating around what may or may not be a more lovecraftian- possibly eldritch-based horror. From the information our colleagues have gathered- descriptions, rumors and the like- what we're looking at is somewhat of a combination of your... theories, for the lack of a better way to describe them. While the latter of a movie monster is entirely possible, it is very likely much deeper than that. The way this almost undetectable disease covers its tracks, even, suggests a somewhat basic intelligence. The infected hardly even-"

"-I'm sorry. Infected? This isn't some zombie virus in the making is it?"

"No, no, nothing as baseless and ridiculous as that, you watch too many movies. As I was saying, the victims afflicted with this plague show little to no signs of affliction when subjected to rudimentary tests and know little regarding their contamination aside from a common testimony we've begun to take very seriously." Fitzgerald holds off, waiting for Winston before continuing.

Annoyed, the summoner bites, rolling his wrist as though hoping to somehow continue the explanation with the motion before finally stating, "Which is...?"

"Are you still with me?"

"Well, contemplating my sanity for involving myself with this , but yeah, I'm following fine."

"Just making sure. I have a tendency to go off on tangents that I've been trying desperately to correct lately. In fact, my wife-"

"-Russ. The common testimony? Let's try to stay on that."

The scientists winces behind his helmet in remembrance of the original topic.

"Right, right. Like I said, the infected each have a common testimony: each and every one of them, at some point, remembers contact with a strange creature, feminine or deathly gaunt in figure. While most of them write off the encounter as a mere dream, others fervently believe they are carriers of by the next big disease to consume the population. Some believe it's the work of extraterrestrial affairs, but the governing forces within Stickpage as well as any doctors and researchers have written off the possibility."

"What do you believe?"

"Truth be told? The vast amount of testimonies, though the majority of them come from the homeless and reputationally delusional, speak volumes and I am quite sure this is the reason that all of us- with you, of course, being the exception- find ourselves on this mission."

"If there is something out there, there's no telling what it's capable of. When the truck stop-" A sudden skid of the tires halts the car, the scientists and Winston alike flying toward the wall separating them from the driver, who feels the need to vocally apologize and announce their arrival.

Single file, the hunched riders hustle out of the back of the vehicle, Winston the first to leave so he can get a decent look at the area he has to work with. Despite what felt to be a short-lived ride, the group finds themselves at this far left end of Stickpage City, opposite to the side from which they entered. The slums themselves, though unfavorably active beneath the tranquil moonlight, almost visibly slow to gauge the intentions of the newcomers. A few less-fortunate scurry and scramble at the sight of the hazmat suits, while others come from their respective doors, fire escapes, windows, and off the street to observe what happens next.

Before he can even question the location, Russ explains, "This is the latest area to spike in terms of sightings. Our bet is that, whatever was here, hasn't gotten to everybody in the vicinity and might still be here, attempting to finish what it started."

The summoner crosses his arms, standing straight and looking into the eyes of each and every person observing his allies. The parted brows, frantic, wide eyes, and quivering lips anticipate the worst as Russ and his scientists retrieve menacing tool after tool from the unmarked vehicle in which they've arrived. Winston, getting the brunt of any malicious stares, briefly glances at the roofs of the surrounding brick buildings, the majority of them overlooking the intertwining alleyways and streets of the areas. As a sort of bonus, they all appear to be the same height, the summoner considering the surveillance possibilities as he starts for an open fire escape.

"Where do you think your going?" Russ steps from the group of scientists deep in preparation, his hazmat suit's sturdy boots crunching gravel beneath his feet as Winston turns and tears two pages from his notebook, two black stick figures spawning as the pages combust into flames. They rise from the earth, their bodies dripping obsidian ink. The liquid solidifies and stand between the scientists and the growing crowd. In each hand they wield a silver khopesh and broadsword respectively, one checking over its weapon as the other observes its surroundings, warily making note of the onlookers with directionless stares.

"They'll be your arms and eyes. I'm going to make sure this plague mother doesn't get the drop on us."

------------------------------------------------------

Ten stick figures line the rooftops of the penniless province, spread out in such a way that each overlooks four potential paths for the supposed plague creature to take on its way out, the westernmost region of the slums under heavy surveillance as the scientists carefully beckon citizens to get tested for disease. While some willingly comply, others express an extreme disdain for such searches, turning to flee almost instantly upon mere focus from the group of doctors.

Those that flee are left to their mania, carefully monitored by the overseeing sticks who each find themselves equipped with a bundle of flares, a weapon of varying shape and size, and a bit of rope sufficient for any purpose it might serve. Winston, perched at the ledge of a hideous brick building chipped of its paint decades prior, carefully awaits any signs of suspicious activity, the phone in his pocket vibrating incessantly to signal the arrival of midnight.

Following a swift retrieval and silencing of the device, Winston gently kicks his legs back and forth against the solid building, leaning back on the dimly lit rooftop as the freshly summoned stick figure continues its rounds.

"You appear disinterested with this work." The figure clucks in a lost tongue, the flare in its hands the only source of light away from the van parked feet below and even farther away.

"I expected it to be uneventful entirely, but I've always been against needles. This isn't much fun to watch." Winston admits, almost begging for some action as a defiant roar erupts from the commotion beneath.

Russ, needle deep in a patient's arm, struggles to restrain his subject, the man writhing in a sweat-soaked fury as the other scientists and pedestrians alike close in. Cursing himself for the poor timing, Winston climbs back from the edge and hops to his feet, hastily pacing toward the fire escape as the stick figures guarding the researchers attempt to repel a crowd steadily growing evermore hostile. Their neighbor, thrashing on a makeshift gurney, manages to utter the words "my" and "chest" in his fit of agony, Fitzgerald proceeding to tear open the plain white t-shirt only to reveal spider-like creatures gnawing against the man's flesh. A few of the arachnids scramble in the direct luminescence, the remaining spiders continuing Russ feast as Russ steps back from the victim.

"We've got parasites! Carnivorous, resembling spiders!" The head inspector busily conducts the others, his hands flying from tool to tool as he proceeds to remove and treat each bite on the man, one of the two defending stick figures sticking by him to dispatch any of the tiny insects that attempt to flee.

The scientists shout and argue amongst one another, Winston only halfway to their location before a small party of men and women charge them with no clear intent, the majority of them answering to the guarding sticks whilst the others each individually throw their weight upon the scientists. Russ topples over the medical bed and the patient he's treating collapses with him, any lasting parasites returning to the body without so much as a minute to spare. In the commotion the headlights of the van go dark with a muffled sound of cracking glass, an arrow-like appendage darting toward the taillights of the vehicle as the nighttime consumes the area piece of piece, the already scarce light converted to pleas and cries .

Fearing for his safety, the stick figure patrolling the overhead building tosses his already sizzling flare at Winston, the fizzle of the flames keeping him in sight as any remaining lights illuminating the street are seized, shattered, and snuffed. Winston turns to see an early Sun peer over the buildings, the mass of stick figures under Winston's command rushing to his aid from rooftop to rooftop. The gravel rolls and scrapes as the stick figure who tossed its flare lands beside Winston, showing no withdrawal with the javelin in its hands pointed outward upon full recovery with intentions to pierce the encroaching blackness.

Winston bends to scoop the flare, his fingers scraping against the asphalt as they wrap around the cylinder. Without hesitation the artist rushes toward a bloodcurdling screech amidst others, Russ' voice cursing and cutting silent before the summoner can so much as lay eyes on the now limp scientist. Apart from the screen guarding Fitzgerald's face being totally cracked and broken, his pale skin exposed to the crimson light, the damage to the researcher appears virtually nonexistent judging by the lack of puncture wounds or tears in the suit.

As the other sticks descend from the roofs and emerge via various alleyways to surround Winston, their collective light emits a radiance that exposes the remaining biologists, who each lay in a fashion similar to that of Russ: faces exposed, bodies slumped in various positions, and kept company only by the one or two civilians that the defending stick figures actually managed to dispatch. Winston glances at the crippled, black bodies of his creations, their heads malformed by the pseudo-stampede and faces perpetually dipped in matching puddles of thick, black ink.

"Eyes open, we're sweeping the area for the plague mother. Anything that isn't either a stick or me dies; no exceptions, no mercy." His heart and mind of harmonic compliance, the artist finds no shock in his order as the weight of the situation increasingly grows more dense.

The summoned simultaneously accept the terms in their foreign dialect. Six of the remaining ten form a tight, circular barrier around Winston while the outlying four form a makeshift diamond before spreading out to search each cardinal direction. The flares continue to burn bright, the street only visible from sidewalk to sidewalk with an oval shaped field of vision that gently continues to expand until the searching sticks leave range. Winston personally lifts, drags, and tosses the limp bodies of his failed mission into the truck, the formation covering him never so much as stepping a foot out of place as he maneuvers the civilians he had already confirmed deceased.

An indistinct shriek rends the relatively quieting atmosphere, a stick figure searching a dumpster flying onto its back as an arrow-like creature writhes and wriggles through the illustration's skull. Seemingly disappointed, the alien snake rips itself from the now lifeless body of ink- only to have itself swiftly dispatched by a vengeful bearded, steel axe. Flare clenched between the creation's teeth, another stick rips its two-handed weapon from the alleyway asphalt. Checking its flanks, the construct warily proceeds down narrow path and breaks right, out of sight in efforts to thoroughly continuing the path of its late ally.

"Two of you stay and watch over the scientists. Tie their hands and legs. If any of them grow hostile you have my permission to use as much force as necessary to subdue them, but do not kill under any circumstances." Winston orders the rest of the sticks to walk with him, the four forming a rhombus-shaped barrier around him as he trots over to and kneels beside the slain parasite.

His stomach flopping over as his fingers come into contact with the already deteriorating flesh of the tiny beast, the bridge Winston's nose curls at the slick texture. Winston, lacking any scientific real training, can only assume the beast hopped off of the stick due to the lack of substance, the hole in the nearby stick's skull oozing ink in place of blood as it too begins to break down in a puddle of its own constitution.

Nearby, a flare flies up from an alleyway, tossed into the sky to alert Winston and party. Not looking to waste time, Winston rises from the odd entity and rushes in the direction of the flare, his posse close behind him as his sneakers beat against the ground only made visibly by the light-bearing sticks that manage to keep pace with the mage. Weaving first right and shifting to a hard left, Winston happens upon a bed of the spider-like parasites, confusedly nibbling as an azure mass atop the twitching stick figure buried beneath. dreading the thought of such a, fate, a disturbing wave rattles up the conjurer's spine. Right on time, the defending constructs converge on the location, one stick tossing its own flare as hard as it can into the jet-black sky whilst another hurls its bright stick down the alleyway.

A feminine shape briefly manifests as the torch reaches the end of its destination, the supposed plague mother fleeing from the party with a distinct limp in its step. Before it can so much as peek past the end of the alleyway, however, the two sticks still considered to be searching burst to corner the woman.

Winston takes a few steps back before taking off toward the infested stick figure and leaping through the air over its body, a knick in the skin on his left leg raising alarms in his head before he can so much as make contact with the ground. Upon return to the earth, he jams his right foot as hard as possible into the afflicted area, which produces a liquid Winston can only assume to be the blood of a dead parasite as he and his other sticks close in the now frenzied affliction. Winston's nostrils barely withstand a lethal barrage of rot and decay, the distinct scents overpowering the relatively meek deterioration of the surrounding trash and human waste.

The woman's- or, at least, feminine figure's- veins pump an almost radiating crimson liquid throughout its pale grey body, various sections of the creature's vile structure malformed as though whatever cruel god responsible for this abomination deviated from any regulation during the time of conception. Turning to face Winston, the bulge-eyed beast starts for the only organic bit of flesh present. Winston's guarding force, however, equally as repulsed their charge, raise their weapons and attempt to blitz the creature- only to find their footing stolen from beneath them as a processed stream of maggots flow from the monster's malnourished gut.

The animalistic entity then uses a tail-based appendage to fault over its still recovering foes, Winston virtually defenseless as the stick figures at the opposite end of the alleyway frantically rush to rescue their creator. The viral atrocity supports the limp its apparently bleeding leg using its tail as a makeshift brace, the wretched horror shambling toward the creator as the sounds of sloshing bodily fluid and audible squirming emanate from inside the festering host. His subjects find their footing and bolt to their master's aid, the sloppily dressed man preferring not to engage his potentially toxic anomaly, which ignores the oncoming threats in hope of infesting a new host- one last potential candidate to secure its legacy. Launching itself on its tail, the affliction leaps onto an unprepared Winston, who topples against the unexpected force, landing against the ground with a thud as the plague mother unceremoniously attempts to pry open the creator's maw. A large parasite leaps from her right shoulder, Winston only able to swat it away once before it remounts his abdomen it sinks its teeth into his side, the summoner's mouth flying open in a grimace as the parasitic entity forces it's decaying fingers into his mouth, bits of flesh and skin flaking off against the creator's teeth with each passing swipe before Winston's manages to toss the monstrosity aside.

Rolling over and hopping onto his hands and feet, Winston whips around and drops the heel of his dress shoe down on the creature's skull just before a stick figure closes the distance and attempts to ram a steel javelin through the beast's chest, the armored plating repelling the strike before the stick jams the weapon through the recently created soft-spot in the woman's skull, her body falling limp as the various parasites within scramble almost immediately to consume what's left of their favorable host.

Digging into his own body, Winston grimaces as he rips the still-burrowing critter from his side, another stick figure arriving and slamming its foot upon the parasite as a third stick approaches and checks over the creator before patting him on the back and turning to retrieve the flare at the end of the alley.

"That could have gone much smoother." Winston quips, spitting and picking whatever remains of the plague mother's fingers from between his mouth and teeth before ordering the sticks back to the van, but not before summoning a pyromancer to dispatch the still frenzied parasites.

"Master, we should keep the remains for scientific purposes," The pyromancer proposes, flames crackling from his ink-drawn fingertips as he stands over the now naked, one-eyed, and tongueless malignant affliction. "Whether or not you wish to believe it, people here and potentially in other places are sick. The body may be the answer to finding a cure."

Winston agrees and orders the flame user to bring back know whatever he pleases when he finishes, having one of the stick figures stay behind to assist this curiosity.

Back at the truck, the two guarding sticks inform Winston that the scientists had not yet awoken, their summoner hopping in the driver's seat of the car as he awaits the opportunity to get his ass back to the party and forget everything that had just taken place.

i feel privileged being one of the first people to comment! Though I'm not sure if I'm fully qualified to give CnC to two members who've been on the forum a lot longer than I have...

Nevertheless, I'll try and be fair and offer my opinion as best I can.

Spoiler for Prey: Winston:

Show

So, I have no idea if Azure will actually read this, but if he does, than thank you for looking at the feedback of a lowly newbie!

Let me start by saying I admire the writing style you use with M.A., especially in relation to her character and abilities. She fits the suspenseful style you were going for perfectly, with a very interesting and Lovecraftian sense of terror. Not to mention you don't need to focus so much on her, but can actually explore the character of her opponents in greater detail.

There are a lot of subtle little touches which I think brought Winston to life in a spectacular manner. References to his sketchbook, family members, his past, and everything else, really helped to make the character seem real.

The one drawback I think you have, is sometimes the tense can feel a little clumsy with the authorial persona you've adopted. For instance;

As he gets his head together, he comes to a strange realization. All his stick figures were gone. Grabbing his sketchbook, he rushes outside, looking around. There was no sign of anybody. The waves greet him silently. The sands look clear of struggles.

The tense is clumsy, and sort of doesn't lend itself to the atmosphere very well. Mixing third person with present tense just isn't that suspenseful, or really that straightforward. Changing it to past tense can tidy up the grammar, and avoids the disconnect that emerges in the writing.

As he got his head together, he came to a strange realisation. All of his stick figures were gone. Grabbing his sketchbook, he rushed outside, looking around. There was no sign of anybody. The waves greeted him silently. The sands were clear of struggle.

Another problem I have, which is really just nitpicking, is that I felt like the build-up and encounter were too rushed. M.A. seems like too much of a horror character to devote so little time to. Perhaps referencing more of her huge range of parasites, and having them encounter Winston first, building up to her appearance from a character who has never seen the creature before, would've been even more terrifying.

All in, a fantastic job.

Spoiler for Return to Normalcy:

Show

This was a fantastically detailed story, and it almost felt like the prologue to some sort of horror thriller novel, almost like a Cloverfield book. I was greatly impressed by the build-up you put into the story, and how little you actually chose to reveal about M.A., at least until the end. You put a lot of detail and energy into the story, and you had some really great descriptions of events.

However, I do think that you didn't quite do the character justice. The reveal, whilst very descriptive, was also more like an action reveal than anything else, and sort of came too far from left-field. The authorial goodwill you built up by the suspense in the earlier parts was lost in the reveal, and didn't fit the mood. I think it would've worked better had you kept her a secret until the very end, teased at her, and then shuffled her away, which would've been a little more in the spirit of the story. Just my opinion, but it didn't sit too well with me.

Finally, you also had the same kind of problem as Azure had with tense shifting and narratorial mismatch, and it made the story a little jerky. Some of the sentences also needed restructuring for a better effect. I'll use the first paragraph as an example.

Furious, the dark orange glow of the late evening hangs in the sky through sheer force of will. The raging sun claws and tears against the pull of time as a rich darkness wrestles its way to prominence. The timid stars, paled by an unwillingness to suffer the brunt of the celestial king's rebelling wrath, peek out to gaze upon the daylight's surrender in clusters of faint luminescence. The frail beauty of the night's lights glimmer in the courtship of a calm, collected moon, the sun thrashing in its shallow grave just beyond the horizon.

The dark orange glow of the late evening hung furiously in the sky,
suspended seemingly through sheer will. The raging sun clawed and tore against the pull of time as the dark of night wrestled its way to prominence. The timid stars, paled by an unwillingness to suffer the brunt of the Celestial King's rebelling wrath, peeked out to gaze upon the daylight's surrender, visible only in clusters of faint luminescence. The frail beauty of the night's light glimmered in the courtship of a calm, collected moon, the sun thrashing in its yellow grave just beyond the horizon.

All in all, a well done battle, and I can't wait to see what you do next. Well done!

I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.
-Anne Frank

I had braced myself for Winston's horrific death. I was only slightly disappointed/relieved but definitely left more curious.

All in all it was an unsurprisingly well-written story that portrays Winston and his relationship with his summons rather well, among other things. I don't really have any gripes so I'll leave those for readers better at picking them out, but it was a good read for me. Great job.

I read every comment on anything I post good sir, and as anyone can tell you, I tend to view everyone as equals (to the grit and ire of some). I do know that my tense usage has been an issue for many in the past, and sadly, it's not something so easily broken from. I write stories as though I were witnessing them, and as such, sometimes actions will occur in a sequence, to which I describe them as happening before getting to the current action. It's not just one continuous present tense, but more reactionary. Sometimes you just need to catch up. I do apologize if it breaks immersion.

As for making it seem too quick, well, that was more due to surprising time constraints than anything. Originally, I planned to have M.A. show up the next night, just appear and "vanish," so to speak, then have her become an actual threat to Winston the next day. I always planned for her attack to come during the day, because it feels even more terrifying to some extent, seeing that the thing you feared in the dark is just as content coming after you in the day as well, and it removes that sense of safety people have that daylight equals safety.

@Kamiroo Wolf

Sorry to not kill you off. While I'm not making these stories particularly canon, I'm making them somewhat their own separate independent canon, and I felt that keeping Winston alive fit the weird narrative I held in my head. Mostly, having a summoner who is secretly subject to the whims of a creature that wants to expand itself is an ingenious idea that, while appearing to give M.A. more intelligence than she actually has, is more a normal instinct for her since the stick figures don't really appear as prey for her, and the knight she had as an incubator couldn't exactly return "home" on its own.

Glad I could nail Winston in a satisfactory manner, however, as that's my main intent with these stories. Focusing on the other character and narrating them as their authors might in a situation (if, of course, you were forced to make them lose). I'll be reading your piece shortly, but I'm sure I'll enjoy it!

I agree with your review absolutely, Generic, and thank you sincerely for the praise regarding my introduction. Even as I was writing the encounter, I was struggling to find the right way to execute it. I guess I ended up taking the easy route and turning it into the fight it shouldn't have been.

I gave you my CnC in Skype. A very good job, quite well written, as usual.

@Kami

You ended up getting my vote. To be honest, this is largely due to the fact that Azure's piece was somewhat stunted in development, as he himself has already acknowledged/explained.

You have some times where sentences weren't constructed as well as they could have been, and at least one malapropism (you don clothes. You don't dawn them, which is what you wrote).

That said, I feel like you did MA justice on the ferocity and fearfulness of its power. I feel like my skin is crawling now, which means you did great. The ending, I feel, should have gone slightly different, but you still conducted it satisfactorily. Though it was a bit out of character for MA to do that last attack, it served well to hit a climax, so good literary/storytelling there.

First off I didn't have a lot of time and Kamiroo's is a lot longer. So I'll read and cnc it later.

Azure: Your writing is as great as ever. However, the story itself was honestly pretty boring. I found myself getting excited at parts looking forward to this battle between a parasitic monster and this summoner who's powerful knight was getting hyped up for half the writing, only to have the battle end with two simple attacks. It was a pretty big buzz kill tbh. Your writing is great but the story just lacked conflict for me. As it stands Kamiroo has a pretty good chance of getting my vote.

First off I didn't have a lot of time and Kamiroo's is a lot longer. So I'll read and cnc it later.

Azure: Your writing is as great as ever. However, the story itself was honestly pretty boring. I found myself getting excited at parts looking forward to this battle between a parasitic monster and this summoner who's powerful knight was getting hyped up for half the writing, only to have the battle end with two simple attacks. It was a pretty big buzz kill tbh. Your writing is great but the story just lacked conflict for me. As it stands Kamiroo has a pretty good chance of getting my vote.